


Cage and Claw

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Death Star, Death Star Holding Cell, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Rape as Interrogation Technique, Tarkin is a Sociopath, Torture, Wound Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for the Star Wars Kink meme, link <a href="http://starwarskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/586.html?thread=893258#cmt893258">here</a>.</p>
<p>Tarkin visits Leia in her cell on the Death Star. <b>MIND THE TAGS. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cage and Claw

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**  
>  Leia/Tarkin dub or non-con on the Death Star, before or after Alderaan was destroyed (both??). 
> 
> +100 in her holding cell   
> +1000 it's 'an advanced interrogation technique'  
> +10000 Vader finds out and is disgusted because he respects Leia as a worthy opponent ;_; But, unfortunately, he can't do anything about it because he's under orders to obey Tarkin

Wilhuff Tarkin smirked at the view screen as an extremely frustrated Vader stormed out of detention block AA-23. He turned back to the display of the Princess’s cell. Leia Organa was a small, pale thing on the best of days. The flower of the Senate, the jewel of the Alderaanian court, all delicate robes and understated lipstick. 

But he knew a predator when he saw one. 

She hid her knives well, he thought. But now, after hours of torment, she lay limp on her back, limbs askew, face drained of blood, too weak to even shiver. Declawed. Caged. 

He wondered if she still had teeth.

*

Leia woke to the hiss of a hypo injector and a sharp pinch on her neck. Awareness flooded back and she sat bolt upright, sight and sound snapping awake, her focus narrowing down to the man in front of her. 

Tarkin. 

She’d spoken to him briefly a few times, once after she’d delivered one of her more…edged pleas for reform to an apathetic Senate, another during a waltz at her sixteenth birthday party. His approach to both had been remarkably similar. Both times she’d been left with the feeling that his ice-pale eyes had sliced her open. She hadn’t been anxious to repeat either encounter.

Leia wrestled down a sudden spike of panic as he leaned in close and shone a penlight into her eyes, checking the pupil response. Apparently satisfied, he put down the injector and activated a switch in the wall. The shelf she was sitting on jerked away from the wall and into the center of the cell – in her weakened state, she would have fallen off if not for Tarkin’s grip on her arm. 

He let her shake him off, a smirk ghosting over his thin lips. 

“Governor Tarkin,” she said, her voice surprisingly clear. “I had no idea I merited this level of attention. Come to clean up Vader’s mess?”

“In a manner of speaking, my dear,” he said. “I felt the need to apologize on his behalf. Lord Vader, when given a free reign, has an unfortunate tendency to resort to rather…brutish methods of persuasion.” She flinched as his eyes flicked up and down her body, lingering on her throat, on the line of skin where purple bruises were already blossoming, just barely visible under the high collar. “Such damage was quite unnecessary. Does this hurt?”

His hand twisted in her hair, tilting her head back and exposing her throat as he traced the tender edge of the bruise with a long, cold finger. He paused at the edge of her collar, caressing the sensitive edge between skin and cloth. 

“Well?” he said in her ear.

“Stop,” she whispered. He opened the clasp at the back of her neck just as she reached up to pull his hand away. She cried out as he caught her wrist and squeezed. 

“Hmm,” Tarkin murmured, sliding the gauzy material off of her shoulders. She hissed as the cold air hit her skin and lashed out with her free arm when he jerked her forward, running his knuckles over her spine. He produced a pair of magnetic binders and snapped them around her wrists. The cloth of his uniform tunic ground roughly on her skin as he leaned across her back to secure her wrists to the bench. There was some give in the magnetic link, so he was able to maneuver her so she was facedown. 

“Better,” said Tarkin. His hand encircled her neck and pressed her face into the cold metal. Leia thrashed against his grip, the cuffs biting into her wrists as his free hand drifted lower, firm and possessive on her naked skin, impossible to ignore.

“However, I still believe that you can be reasonable,” he purred, tracing slow, sensual circles along the curve of her hip. He leaned closer, his breath hot on her neck. 

“Where is the rebel base?”

*

Tarkin’s trousers grew painfully tight as Leia jerked under his grip, tremors spreading under her skin as realization dawned. He moved from her hip to the trembling skin of her back, taking a moment to appreciate the range of textures on her soft, perfumed body. Especially where the interrogation droid had left it’s parting gifts – swollen, red, needle tracks from the drugs, blackening bruises, likely from an electrical charge of some sort. She bit her lip as he ground the heel of his hand into a swollen, weeping cut just south of her shoulderblade. 

“Your Highness?”

He slipped his hand under her dress. Leia cried out and tried to twist out from under him. He responded by digging his fingers into her hip, his breath growing hoarse as his nails broke the skin.

“I. Don’t. Know,” she hissed. 

“Are you sure?” Tarkin asked. He yanked her skirt up over her hips and pushed her thighs apart, too fast for her to react. “Think hard.”

She shook her head, tried desperately to calm her breathing, her thighs straining against his grip. That pretty skin is going to bruise, he thought, kneading the softness of her inner thighs, tracing the line of her hot cleft through her undergarment. 

“No.”

*

Leia squeezed her eyes shut when she felt him rip the cloth away. This is happening. Her nails bit into her palms as she tried to drag herself back to the place she’d found towards the end of her interrogation, when Vader’s patience disappeared and the sights and sounds in her cell went thick and blurred, running into each other, pressing in on her senses like she was underwater. Everything had felt like it was happening to someone else, even as she lost her voice screaming.

She jerked back to reality, visceral terror taking her when Tarkin slid a finger between her folds and circled her entrance slowly, testing, and then pressed inside. 

He hummed appreciatively, rocking his hand back and forth as she winced with pain. 

“Why Princess, I’m surprised at you,” he said. “Whatever would your father say?” He removed his hand and settled fully between her legs, keeping her spread open with his thighs. He leaned lower, pressed his still-clothed erection against her, reached over her and wiped his wet fingers across her face, filling her mouth with her taste. He dug deep as he whispered in her ear. “His little flower…Flushed and wet and open…Waiting…” He thrust two fingers into her, gripping her jaw hard enough to bruise, and then yanked his hand away, cursing when she bit down, hard. 

“You’re going to regret this,” she hissed. Tarkin chuckled.

“I’m sure,” he said, and unbuckled his trousers. 

Leia’s brain locked up, her entire body seizing as a line of hot, hard flesh ground between her cheeks, nudged at her entrance, the edges of his tunic scraping on her thighs. 

“I’m getting tired of asking this,” said Tarkin. His fingers dug into her thighs. “Where is the rebel base?”

He shoved inside before she could answer, her defiant curse twisting into a cry of pain as his cock split her open. Tarkin groaned roughly as she shuddered around him, her struggles pulling him deeper into her wet heat. 

“Very good, your Highness,” Tarkin gasped out when he was fully sheathed, breathing hard. He reached down and stroked her cheek. “If I’d known you were this tight…” He bit down on her pale, thin shoulder and began to thrust in earnest. Each sob sent a bolt of heat straight to his cock. 

She writhed under him, but the drugs, the beatings, the bruises had left her too weak to fight for long. Soon she stilled, limbs quiescent, beading with sweat, her ears full of the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin. Dimly she was aware of the little sounds she was making, the twitches and moans, and just how much he was enjoying her pain. That he was toying with the idea of making her come around his cock. 

The very thought filled Leia’s core with burning, viscous rage. It stayed after Tarkin spilled himself inside of her and raked bloody trails down her back. After he wiped himself off on her gown, redressed her, and left without a backward glance. 

*

The Dark Side was loud, and full of knives. Vader couldn’t meditate, a problem that he normally associated with his Jedi days, and yet – He finally gave up. It was as though something was snapping at him, crying in an infinite loop. It wouldn’t let him be. The disturbing part was the thin thread of familiarity…

Vader reasoned that it was the frustration that came with an incomplete task. He stalked off towards the surveillance center for cell block AA-23. She’d talk this time. 

The video feed was off. He threw the flustered tech out of the room - Moff Tarkin’s orders! Please my Lord! - and pulled up the image.

Just in time to see Tarkin tuck himself back into his pants. 

Vader saw red.


End file.
